The afternoon was cloudy and dull, and promised rain, and, although the rain held off, the atmosphere was depressing, and the blue-grey hills looked very far away. The sky remained threatening.
Laura set out from the hotel at Welsea at half-past two, with George to drive the car, and approached the house with trepidation. She was not at all sure what effect the previous visits had had, and she was uncertain, too, whether the woman whom Mrs. Bradley called Mrs. Battle had seen her with Gascoigne and O’Hara. If so, her present mission might be dangerous.
She went boldly up to the door, however, and rang the bell. It was answered by a scowling man whom she affected to take for Concaverty. She even addressed him by this name, and received, in response, no denial of the patronymic but merely a growling enquiry as to her business.
‘I want to hire some film extras,’ she replied. ‘I thought you might be able to tell me where to find some.’
‘You talk as though they were primroses or birds’ nests,’ he responded, giving her a bleak smile which had the effect of making his face look like a piece of carved wood.
‘I know,’ Laura meekly agreed. ‘But I’ve been told to get hold of a dozen or two for some
This clumsy expression of her requirements drew, rather to her surprise and trepidation, a morose invitation to go in, and Laura, a feeble and most unwilling Daniel, entered the lions’ den in the wake of the wooden-faced unknown. She was glad to see that he left the door wide open.
The interior of the house was not alarming. It was furnished modestly and in good taste, so far as Laura could see, but she saw little, for she was conducted to a small room containing a large desk and a picture by A. J. Munnings and there was invited to sit down. She was left alone for ten minutes, and then a young man in horn- rimmed spectacles came in, seated himself at the desk and unscrewed a short, thick fountain pen.
‘Name?’ he asked, with no preliminaries.
‘Menzies,’ Laura responded.
‘Business?’
‘To hire about a dozen or two dozen film extras for private and non-commercial work.’
‘Destination?’
‘Oh, I should want to film them here and there about this county, you know.’
‘That is location, not destination.’
‘Oh? Well, in that case, they wouldn’t have destination, but only location.’
‘I see. Well, I am not at all sure that we could do that, Miss Menzies. The usual rates, of course, if it turns out that we can spare our extras? I mean, there’s a Union to consider. And then, of course, when would you require them?’
‘I don’t know exactly. By the end of the week, I should think.’
The young man rang the bell and the man whom Laura had addressed as Concaverty answered it.
‘Show Miss Menzies out, Sorensen,’ said the young man briefly. To show that the interview was definitely at an end, he picked up a pen and began to write.
Laura left the house forthwith. She felt more than bewildered. Not thus, she thought, was crime conducted, unless the young man had been instructed to get rid of her with all speed. She wondered what they all knew about her and what the terrifying Sorensen suspected.
‘You ought to have those four trees cut down,’ she said, when they reached the front door.
‘What four trees, madam?’ the man enquired, giving her again his teakwood smile. ‘Oh, you mean the
‘That’s what I said, ’said Laura.
‘Yes, madam, but, you see, we
‘Shooting? Oh, you mean shooting the film!’
‘What other kind of shooting could I mean, madam?’
Laura did not answer this question. She walked towards the gate feeling like a person caught in a dream which he knows is a dream and from which he cannot awake.
‘Crazy,’ she muttered to herself, as she came to the little culvert over the ditch.
‘I don’t think I’ve done the slightest good,’ she confided to Mrs. Bradley when she returned, ‘but I have been inside that house, and it doesn’t seem particularly sinister.’
‘You have done bravely, child,’ her employer cordially responded. ‘You have established, I think, that Mr. Concaverty, under his pseudonym of Cassius, is still at the hotel at Slepe Rock, and that is exactly what we wanted to know. Did they promise you any helpers?’
‘I don’t really know,’ said Laura, looking and feeling perplexed. ‘Do you think they’ll send us an answer?’
‘I expect so, if you left an address.’
‘I didn’t! And they didn’t ask for one.’
‘Excellent, child. And now for your smugglers’ cave. We hired a sea-going cruiser from Welsea Beaches, and from there we shall go to the cave and explore its interior. I have very great hopes of that cave.’
‘I
‘We are taking a boatman from Welsea.’
‘Won’t he wonder what on earth we’re up to exploring a cave? I mean, it’s kids’ stuff, really, and if he sees
‘Geology knows no law,’ said Mrs. Bradley complacently.
‘We shall take our little hammers and a specimen or two, and then we shall chip rocks and collect bits and pieces, and place them with tender discernment in little bags discreetly but obviously labelled. It won’t be scientific, but it will pass. At least, I hope so.’ She cackled with great enjoyment.
Laura giggled. She spent the evening helping to prepare for the ‘great camouflage’ as she herself termed it, and early on the following morning, she, Gascoigne, O’Hara and Mrs. Bradley set forth in a motor cruiser, a chunky, sturdy, seaworthy affair in charge of an old man and a boy of fifteen, with the geological apparatus well displayed.
They stood out to sea to avoid the shore-setting currents around the headlands, and arrived off Slepe Rock at lunch-time. They had lunch on board, and then the motor-cruiser ran in, slacked off when it came almost opposite the cave, and took advantage of the tide to back cautiously under the cliffs.
The dinghy was soon lowered from the cabin top where it had been slung, and its little outboard motor, with full pivot reverse for driving sideways or astern (a very necessary feature for the kind of work which the dinghy might need to perform in the cave) having been started up, away went Mrs. Bradley, Laura and O’Hara, whilst Gascoigne remained on board with the man and boy.
Laura, who was skilled in such matters, edged the dinghy into the cave, keeping just enough way on her to avoid her stern being swept round on to the rocks.
The cave was dark and cool, and smelt of seaweed. The water into which they nosed with such circumspection and finesse ran deep, as might have been expected, and was wonderfully smooth once the yard or two of surf at the mouth of the opening had been crossed, but it had been a tricky little passage, on the whole, and Laura felt that she merited the congratulations offered by her crew and passenger.
‘Well, anyway, we’re in,’ she said modestly. ‘I should think we’d better have lights.’
Mrs. Bradley and O’Hara, who were already well forward, switched on powerful electric torches which lit up the glistening walls and indicated the dark distances of the cave. Laura cautiously started the engine again, for the cave was too narrow for oars.
‘Good heavens! This cave must run inland for several hundred yards!’ exclaimed O’Hara. This estimate proved to be an exaggeration, but the tunnel was fully one hundred and fifty yards long, and in a few minutes the young man, who had given Mrs. Bradley both torches and was using the boathook as a lead-line, announced shoal water.
Laura cut out her engine, which, in any case, was barely functioning, took the second boathook, and helped to fend the dinghy from the side. The cave had widened into an almost circular end, but on the port side of the boat was the natural shelf which Laura had noticed on her first visit. Moreover, as they reached shoal water, they came